


Sunday Brunch

by girlsarewolves



Series: we'll make a home amid the chaos [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Band-aid Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, OT4, Post-Movie(s), Self-Indulgent, Spoilers, extremely self-indulgent band-aid fic, it would never be so happy or easy in the movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Doomsday and the death of Superman, Martha spends her Sundays keeping the memory of Clark alive through Lois, Bruce, and Diana. That is, until she no longer has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Brunch

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Gamze for being just as invested in this OT4 and in Martha Kent and everyone loving Clark Kent as I am. This is my first time writing for the DCCU, and my first time writing any of these characters. Concrit/feedback is very much appreciated! (Also, my apologies if I got the name of Martha's dog from Man of Steel wrong.)

* * *

It starts with just Lois.  
  
Every Sunday, when Martha has off and Lois can make the drive, they have brunch at the kitchen table Clark built for her while the crew rebuilt the house. And Martha brings out the photo albums and boxes of pictures and some of the crafts Clark made at school. The important things she was able to salvage after Zod, the memories.  
  
"This is the first time Jonathan let him drive the tractor - oh, he was so tickled, but you'd never know it from the photograph. He was concentrating so hard on doing exactly what he'd been shown," she tells Lois one Sunday, handing over a picture of Clark at age ten. She loves that one; she never wants to forget the serious, determined look on his face that hides the excitement she remembers bursting out of him when he was done.  
  
Lois laughs and holds the photo, frames it with both hands and looks at the boy who had no idea yet why he was so special.  
  
Martha keeps telling her daughter-in-law (and that is how Martha thinks of the clever, vibrant woman her son fell for, as family by choice and by love) she doesn't have come out there every single Sunday. It's a long drive from Metropolis to the farmlands of Smallville, Kansas, she knows this.  
  
Lois always flashes her that bright smile that Clark could wax poetic about and squeezes Martha's hand. There's a tremble in that smile though; her eyes always get a little glassy. "Nonsense, Martha. I live for our Sunday brunches."  
  
And Martha, all she can do is smile and nod and look at all the photos of Jonathan and Clark, all the memories she saved. She's always relieved to hear it; she lives for them these days, too.

* * *

A month later, Bruce Wayne himself shows back up at her front door, as somber as he'd been the day of the funeral. He smiles when she answers the door, Rusty barking and clawing to get out (and lick the man to death, such a fearsome dog he turned out to be), and doesn't seem to mind the noise or attention.  
  
"Morning, Mrs. Kent. I hope it's not a bad time." He's clean and polite, and she sees a spark of the rich playboy the tabloids like to gossip about - but Martha sees the man who nearly killed Clark only to save her and try to save her son.  
  
She smiles and lets him in. "Not at all, Mr. Wayne. Lois and I were just having brunch, and there's always room for one more at the table."  
  
Rusty gets dog hair all over Bruce's suit (she doesn't want to even imagine how much it cost), but he keeps a hand on the dog's head, scratching behind the ears where it feels the best and makes Rusty thump his leg, the entire time he sits with her and Lois. He even sneaks a piece of bacon, and Martha just knows Rusty's going to be whining for months now expecting to get that treat again each time she has it.  
  
She shows him the first photo she and Jonathan took with their baby boy, and tells him how they found Clark. "He might have thrown a wrench into some of our beliefs, but he was a blessing all the same."  
  
Bruce's mouth quirks in what Martha thinks might be the most genuine smile he's ever given her.  
  
He joins them again the next Sunday, this time with scones his butler apparently insisted he bring, and Martha scolds him not to give any to Rusty. He has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, at least as much as someone like him can.

* * *

A couple of Sundays later, he shows up with the woman who had fought with them (Diana, she introduces herself, with an accent Martha has never heard and wise, dark eyes that look too old for her pretty face), and Martha thinks Rusty is about to pass on to doggy heaven, he's so excited.  
  
She can't exactly hide how much she likes the company, either, though.  
  
Diana has a photo of her own that she shares with Martha; privately, when Lois is outside on the porch and asking Bruce the most ridiculous questions just to see if he'll laugh. She pulls it from her purse, a printed out copy of an old photograph, old like the few pictures Martha has of hers and Jonathan's parents.  There's something wistful in her expression when she looks at it before placing it in Martha's hands.  
  
"This photograph, it is the only thing I have left of that time in my life. Of those men. They were like family to me." A finger brushes over the face of the man to her right. Those dark eyes are wet when she looks back at Martha, but she smiles. "Fighting with Bruce and your son reminded me much of those days. I am sorry I did not get to know Clark, but hearing you and Miss Lane speak of him, I feel like I do. You keep him alive in your stories. Some day, I would like to tell you about these men, and the other men and women I knew and fought with."  
  
Martha smiles, throat tight, and gives Diana a squeeze. "I would love to hear those stories. It's nice to have all of you here, it's good to talk about him. Honest talk, about who Clark really was. The real him was somewhere between Superman and the Clark most people knew."    
  
"In this way, I think Bruce and I relate to your son the most," Diana replies, eyes on her photo and in another time, before a deep, rumbling laugh comes from the porch, and Lois is laughing to, at whatever question finally broke Bruce's seriousness.  
  
And it's a wonderful thing, hearing them laugh, hearing her daughter laugh again in a way she hasn't been able to. It's a relief, one that cuts her to the quick, and Martha doesn't quite realize she's crying until Diana is holding her up.

* * *

The next Sunday all three of them arrive early together, before she's had a chance to even start mixing the pancake batter, this time with Bruce's butler Mr. Pennyworth and a limo.  
  
And some fancy, expensive canned dog food, so Rusty won't feel too hurt being left out this week.  
  
"This really wasn't, necessary, Bruce," she insists, for the fifth time, as she gets into the limo. "I only cook on Sundays, when I'm not cooking for myself, and I happen to like doing it."  
  
"I know, Mrs. Kent, but all the same I'd still like to treat you for once." He smiles as they all pile into his fancy limo (and it is nice, but she still feels a little out of place). He doesn't call her Martha like Lois or Diana, and she doesn't ask him to after he tells her about his mother. He's found a way to make Mrs. Kent sound a little less formal, a little more familial, and she's gotten used to it anyhow.  
  
Martha sighs. "I'd be happy enough with more scones."  
  
If Mr. Pennyworth has a pleased smile on his face when he closes the door, Martha isn't able to see him long enough to tell. She enjoys herself though, at the 24 hour diner in the next town over, and if anyone recognizes the billionaire at the table, they're all too shocked to do anything about.  
  
She asks Lois about the Daily Planet, about that nice girl Jenny Clark mentioned a few times, and about Perry White who her son was constantly frustrated with but had respected as much as his father. She asks about Lois, and she asks Diana and Bruce and Alfred about themselves, and they don't talk too much about Clark or Jonathan, or about the real reason they're not back at the house.  
  
And they answer all her questions, tell her plenty of stories (ones safe for discussion with so many people around), and they never let her think too long or too hard about how she's another year older, another year without her husband and her son.  
  
The next Sunday, Bruce brings more scones.

* * *

A few months into their ritual, the three of them coming to see her and bringing her and Rusty something in return for the country cooking she gives them, Lois comes by herself again.  
  
"I wanted to spend some time with just the two of us," she explains. "Three, I meant three," she corrects when Rusty paws at her leg. She's still wearing the ring, her thumb toying with it, winding it round and round her finger.  
  
Martha smiles and pours her a cup of coffee. "If this is about Bruce and Diana, I don't want to hear any apologies, or asking my permission or anything like that."  
  
Lois swallows, gives Martha a look that tells her how right her guess was, and then just smiles and laughs and cries all at once, sitting down at the table. "I just...I keep thinking he's going to come through the apartment door, with flowers and grocies, and apologize for scaring me but it's okay now. He wasn't really dead. And I can finally tell him yes."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart, I know." She sits down beside Lois and holds her, tears stinging her own eyes, but today is the first day she's thought about the loss of Clark without breaking down, and it's going to stay that way. "He would want you to be safe, and to be happy. And that's what I want, too. I know how much he loved you. And I love you just as much as if you two had gotten hitched, or if you were my own. You don't have to feel guilty for finding comfort or love. I've known this was coming for a little while now."  
  
It's the truth, too. She knew early on that there was something between Bruce and Diana, even if at first they seemed to be ignoring it. She's also noticed the way Diana's hand lingers on Lois, or the way Bruce knows Lois is going to want a lot of syrup on her pancakes.  
  
Little intimacies, small gestures; signs of people being attuned to each other in ways that shows an extra level of care and affection. The way she knew exactly how Jonathan wanted his coffee depending on his mood, or how he knew she felt neglected if she wore perfume and would take her hand and just start dancing with her through the house.  
  
"I think...I think they remind me of him," Lois whispers when she's calmer, the redness and puffiness fading around her eyes. "It's like I'm still connected to him." She smiles, wistful and bittersweet. "The way we keep it secret, pretend there's nothing between us. The fear every time I see them on the news."  
  
Martha squeezes her left hand. Feels the diamond dig into her palm. "Do they make you happy?"  
  
Her daughter meets her eyes and slowly nods. Like a guilty party confessing. "Yes."  
  
Martha cups her cheeks and kisses her forehead. "Good. As long as this doesn't mean no more Sunday brunches together, otherwise then we might have a problem," she teases, and smiles when Lois laughs.  
  
"Of course not. None of us can resist your cooking."  
  
The next Sunday they're all back; Lois is still wearing the ring, but there's an openness between them that brings as much happiness as it does pangs of grief.

* * *

Diana visits in the middle of the week not long after, when Martha works a morning shift, and brings authentic Greek food she prepared herself. It smells delicious and looks a little suspect to a woman who only had Italian if you counted the local pizza place and only tried Chinese takeout a year ago when Clark brought her to Metropolis for a few days.  
  
She tries it though, because she's touched by the gesture and her mother instilled better manners in her than to show any caution over given food, and finds she quite enjoys the flavors. She has a feeling she might regret it during the night, but she doesn't mention that.  
  
"So, is today the day when you tell me about your boys?" she asks, taking another bite.  
  
Diana smiles and nods. "Yes. But I needed some of the comforts of home to help, and I wanted to share a part of me with you. I have yet to meet Lois' parents or sister, but you are her family too, and someone I can be honest about myself with in ways her blood may never know."  
  
"I'm honored, Diana. I know how difficult it is, how big a thing this can be. I hope you don't mind if I share with Clark? I visit him, probably more than I should.  But I like to tell him about things. How Rusty's still getting along, how I am. How Lois is doing. That you and Bruce check in on me, that you're taking care of her. It, helps. Some of the time."  
  
"We all grieve in our own ways. Speaking to the dead, as though they were still with us, keeps them with us. I would be delighted to give you a story to tell your son. Perhaps, in his next life, he will hear it. Perhaps it will bring a smile to his face."  
  
(Martha hopes so. She still believes in a higher power even beyond the things she's seen since Clark entered her life. She still believes in something better after death, and she can't accept the thought that her son, her brave boy, isn't there, maybe with Jonathan, or maybe with the parents he never really knew.  
  
Maybe both. Maybe when she leaves this world, she'll get to meet them, and maybe they'll tell her she did the best she could. )  
  
Diana tells her of her life, almost too long for Martha to comprehend, of battles fought, with great victories and great sacrifices. She tells Martha of a man named Steve Trevor.

* * *

Sunday comes and it's Bruce who arrives at the front door, alone and somber. He's gentle as ever with Rusty, but even the excitable dog senses something different and doesn't jump, doesn't bark, only stays close like good old Hank used to do with Jonathan during his dizzy spells, the ones he hid from Clark that went nowhere thanks to the tornado.  
  
"Taking turns?" she teases as she sits, after he insists (she prepared the meal, he can fix the plates at the very least, he tells her).  
  
Bruce smirks the tiniest bit. "It would seem so." He piles two pancakes on her plate and one strip of bacon. He slips a half a piece to Rusty, not even trying to hide it anymore when he learned he might be the Bat of Gotham but a mother always knows when the dog is getting spoiled. "Your brunch, Mrs. Kent," he says with a flourish and grin. It almost hides the solemness in his eyes.  
  
Martha laughs though and pours on the syrup. She knows from watching him, from things Lois and even Diana have said, getting Bruce to talk can be difficult. Pushing the subject won't do a bit of good, so she doesn't.  
  
"Alfred says he's sorry he didn't get a batch of scones fixed in time. I kept him busy this week, so really it's me who should apologize." He sits down across from her and gives her a vaguely sheepish shrug.  
  
She waves him off. "I always eat too many anyway. Probably good for me to miss a week."  
  
Bruce nods and looks down at his own plate, fork in hand. He sighs; sets the fork down but keeps staring at the table. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kent. For what I did, was going to do, to Clark." There's tension in his shoulders, jaw, the tight fists his hands are making. "I was blinded by anger, by weakness. I know Lois has told you what finally broke through to me. I know I offered my condolences at the funeral, but things have, changed."  
  
By Bruce's feet, Rusty whines, sensing the tension in the man. Martha herself feels it coming off in waves; Bruce Wayne is a very proud man, even if he makes a fool of himself to trick everyone else into believing in the billionaire playboy public figure.  
  
"I'm not angry at you for falling in love with Lois, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not even angry at you anymore for being an ignorant ass who nearly killed my son, though I certainly was for a few weeks after finding out."  
  
The tension in Bruce seems to dissipate just a little. He lets out a snort. "Well deserved, I won't deny it." There's a heavy sigh, and then Bruce looks over at photos pinned on the fridge. "It's not just Lois, you know. Diana and I, we've both spent time with her the past few months. Getting to know her outside of this place. But Clark, he's, he's always there still. And we - I - don't mind."  
  
Martha watches Bruce Wayne, the richest man she's ever met and also the biggest, even a little taller and broader than her son, swallow hard and stare at his trembling hands like he doesn't know how to say what's next.  
  
"Listening to you and Lois talk about him, learning who he was. Sometimes, it feels like we're starting to fall for him, too. And I don't have the right. I would have killed him if he hadn't said your name. My mother's name. I don't have the right."  
  
It doesn't really come as a surprise, this confession. Martha might be a little biased, but, she always thought if anyone took the time to get to know Clark, they would love him in some way. So it doesn't surprise her that this man, this man who saw only the damage done by Zod and the others and thought her beautiful boy was a threat, even this man could love him, too, well after it was too late. And Diana, well, she'd gotten a suspicion during their dinner. Maybe this was how they made Lois happy; loving Clark now, like she had.  
  
"Loving someone, being loved...it doesn't matter if you deserve it, if you have the right or not. That's not how love works, Bruce. And I'm not about to be angry you just because it's too late, or because he's gone. Or even because of what you almost did. Clark died that night not because of you, but because of Luthor. The United States government also tried to kill him that night, Lois told me about the nuke. I'm more angry at them than you, but who isn't angry at the government?"  
  
There's a tick, a twitch in the corner of his mouth. Even Bruce Wayne can't help but be a little amused at a petty jab at the government.  
  
Martha reaches her arms across the table and takes his hands in hers. "I'm happy to have you and Diana in my life. And in Lois'. I'm happy to know my boy can still have an affect on people, even if it's just through words and stories. Whatever darkness you have in your life, anger or guilt or shame, it's got no place at my table. This is a place for family. For love. Now eat your breakfast."  
  
A ghost of a smile, something genuine and even warm, crosses his face. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

The last Sunday of her life without Clark starts early.  
  
Martha wakes to the sound of Rusty barking up a storm, and for a moment she panics, wonders if it is a storm. She shoots up only to see the sun, the morning songbirds fluttering around outside the window. But there's an energy in the air, a crackle not unlike that feeling before the sky turns against the earth. She grabs Jonathan's old bathrobe, the only one she wears anymore, and wraps it around as she comes down the stairs.  
  
Rusty is running back and forth in front of the door, barking and tail wagging, like there's a raw steak on the other side. His claws are a constant click-clack on the wood floor, and Martha has to make two attempts at his collar before she's able to grab hold.  
  
"Rusty, settle down! Come on, now." She struggles to hold him still and keeps the chain on the door, just to be safe, when she opens it a crack.  
  
That's when everything changes.  
  
He smiles at her, big, sheepish grin on a dirty face. Hair a mess, clothes wrecked and ruined. His hands are stained brown. He opens the screen door and laughs when Rusty tries to squeeze through the crack between the front door and the doorway. He looks at her again; his face is blurry, and Martha is vaguely aware of her hand over her mouth as she starts to sob.  
  
"Hi, Mom. Can I come in?"

* * *

He holds her for the longest time. Covered in dirt and mud, but she doesn't mind at all. Her boy is alive. He holds her and cries with her even, tells her he's so sorry it took him this long to come back, like somehow it's his fault, but she doesn't listen, just weeps with joy and tells him she loves him and she's just glad he's home.  
  
Eventually, she's ready to let him go out of sight long enough to clean off and change. She sits on the sofa and just laughs and cries as Rusty runs from the bathroom to see Clark then back down to check on her, lick at her tears before running to see Clark again. She feels much the same way.  
  
Her hands shake as she reaches for the phone and dials Lois' cell number. Manages to calm her body down enough to talk, so that when Lois answers she doesn't get scared or worried before Martha can tell her the good news.  
  
"Hi, Martha. I'm on my way, I just had to stop and get some gas. I think Bruce and Diana are coming together from Gotham-"  
  
"Lois. Lois, he's here."  
  
There's a pause on the other hand. "Martha?"  
  
And she lets out a laugh, because she can scarcely believe, and she's overcome with joy.  She starts to tell Lois but then she looks over at the stairs to see him standing there, no longer looking fresh out of the grave, and he looks so happy, and Martha hands the phone to him so Lois can hear for herself.  
  
"Lois? I'm, back. Yes. It's really me. Where are you? I'll come get you. I don't care who sees me. All right, I'll be there soon." He hangs up and bends down and kisses Martha's forehead; he's real. Her boy is really alive. "I'll be back with Lois soon, Mom. I promise."  
  
Martha smiles, eyes watery, and squeezes his hand. "Rusty and I are holding you to that."  
  
Clark laughs, and it's one of the most beautiful sounds she's ever heard. It always has been. Clark has always been a miracle. "I won't let either of you down." And then he's out the door, a blur nobody will be able to see clearly but Martha knows they'll wonder if it's him. If he's come back.  
  
She's laughing and crying as she starts on breakfast. It's not even twenty minutes before he walks back through the front door, Lois still in his arms.

* * *

Bruce and Diana arrive a half hour later, after Martha and Lois have had some time with Clark while Martha fixes enough food for all of them (she jokes about how it was providence she went to the grocery store yesterday, otherwise there might not have been enough for the rest of them after Clark got his plate, but she squeezes him tight and kisses his brow and can't help a few tears from falling on him). Lois and Clark are in the backyard, talking about what Sunday brunch has become, she thinks.  
  
Maybe talking about what Lois' relationship with the other two superheroes has become.  
  
When Martha answers the door, Diana and Bruce are exchanging a look, and she's got a feeling Diana can hear the two talking on the other side of the house. She had a feeling they might show up already at least a little suspicious. There's an awkwardness to them, and it's ill-suited to them both.  
  
"Come on in, you two. You're family, don't think for one second it's any different now," she makes clear right away. She hugs them both, unable to contain her joy. "Whatever you're thinking," she adds, when she's hugging Bruce, "He'll be happy to see you two. I'm sure of it."  
  
"I hope so," Diana says, but she and Bruce follow Martha into the kitchen.  
  
She's right, of course. A mother always is.  
  
Clark follows Lois through the back door (and there's the moment when Diana and Bruce see him, see with their own eyes the way Martha and Lois have, that he's really back, and Martha knows they'll love him, not just the memory of him or the stories she tells), and when he sees them, he grins widely at them.  
  
"Hope I didn't give you too big of a scare."  
  
Diana's face lights up in a smile and she moves to him, hugs him like he's an old friend. "It's so good to see you, Clark."  
  
Bruce stays back, distant, but he nods. "You survived a nuclear missile. I knew you weren't dead."  
  
Martha laughs, and Diana and Lois do, too.  
  
Clark just nods. "Sure, Bruce. If you say so." He's then over there, by Bruce, and hugs him. "I'm glad I'm back, too."  
  
They sit down after that, Martha and her son and the people that love him. It's the best Sunday brunch yet. Probably the best one she'll ever have.  She hopes somewhere, in another life, Jonathan can see it. Can know their son found his place and isn't alone.  
  
He's loved. He's home.


End file.
